


Like Real People Do

by wizardstea



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, It/Its Pronouns For Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Panic Attacks, Sex, Smut, Violence, everything up to season 3 is canon (i think) and then we make stuff up from there, let michael hold martin and comfort him please it's so cute, michael is still alive okay its fine, more explicit tags added as story continues, there will be a happy ending i promise:)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:41:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28801503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wizardstea/pseuds/wizardstea
Summary: After Elias foiled Martin's plan of getting him arrested, Elias decided to deal with him the only way he knew how: get rid of Martin. But Elias might as well appease an entity if he was going to kill someone, right? But dying would prove harder for Martin than he would have thought as this certain entity might want to take a more different course of action. And so we begin...This story updates weekly/every Saturday!Feel free to follow the author (me) on tik tok @wizardstea :)*title inspired by Hozier's song "Like Real People Do"*
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Welcome to my first fic on this account! I used to write for ao3 a while back but here I am, writing tma fics because that's my mood rn. Anyways, hope y'all enjoy the first chapter, and remember to leave kudos and comments! They always make me smile <3

Martin woke up, darkness surrounding all of him. He was immobilized, scratchy cloth tied around his hands and eyes wrapped in a cord of similar material. As he came to, he heard the murmurs behind him. Biting his tongue to stifle the panicked whimper rising in his throat, Martin did his best to listen in.

“Consider it a trade, Michael,” a low voice said, its tone layered with the suaveness and confidence of a man who knew he’d already won. “I’ve no use for him anymore.”

“Watcher, I don’t want your measly archival-assistant table scraps,” another spoke.

Martin realized in horror that the first voice was, in fact, his boss, Elias Bouchard. Events from the night before came swimming back to him, one by one. He was getting Elias arrested. The cops came in, and then they were gone. Just disappeared. He remembered Elias smiling, monologuing like the villain he was about a foiled plan and how Martin was nothing but a nuisance to him, and then, he was out. He remembered those glowing, green eyes boring into his skull as he fell unconscious before he even hit the ground.

The second voice, that was a sound he’d never heard before. It filled his head with static and mouth with cotton. It was as if he touched seaweed in the ocean and he wanted to squirm away. It’s tone startled him, causing him to let loose a whimper from his quivering lips. The murmurs quieted, and he heard shuffling around him. Arms gripped his own as he was lifted out of his seat and guided with careful precision to a part of the room. Martin’s hands remained bound and eyes covered as he was turned to face someone.

“E-Elias? Is that you?” Martin stuttered, biting his tongue again to keep his fear at bay.

“Yes, Martin,” Elias replied curtly, the other voice making tutting sounds.

Martin’s arm hair rose as the static feeling continued to search his body, creating gooseflesh in its wake. He let out a quiet sigh of relief when it stopped, earning a chuckle from his boss.

“W-What do you want from me, Elias?” Martin managed to finally say. “I-I’m s-sorry about the cops. I swear, I didn’t-,”

“Hush, Martin, no more of this,” a hand covered his mouth, cutting his words off. “Don’t waste your breath. You’ll have lots of time for that with Michael.”

_ Michael _ , he thought.  _ So that was that other person’s name. _ Martin clenched his hands together behind his back, his entire body shaking as he shut his eyes tighter. He stood there for a moment, mouth biting his lip, trying to keep his noises locked in his throat.

“Alright, Watcher,” the other’s, Michael’s, voice brought him back. “I’ll take your little pet. Send him in. I’ll be on the other side, wherever that is.”

Martin heard a door creaking open, and the shutting swiftly. The blindfold fell from his face and he squinted, blinking in a startled fashion at the sudden light, as dim as it was. Before him stood a yellow door in the middle of Elias’s office. His mouth fell open as he realized it wasn’t connected to anything. It loomed over him ominously, power radiating off its frozen form. As soon as Martin felt his bonds loosening from his wrists, he turned around, face ridden with shock as Elias coyly looked at him. Martin raised his hands to his body, rubbing them to ease the burning feeling of the harsh material that used to cover them.

“Elias-,”

“Go through the door, Martin. Don’t waste my time any more than you already have,” Elias replied curtly, taking a step towards the shaking man.

Martin didn’t turn around, but he did take a step back. “What’s behind it?”

Elias raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Why, death, of course. Silly boy, why else would I send you in?”

Martin’s blood ran cold. He didn’t respond, but he felt like he was about to faint. This was how he went. After everything with Jon. Maybe Jon was safe though, probably defeated Nikola. As long as he was okay in the end, that’s all that mattered.

“Go on, then. Michael’s waiting,” Elias said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Open the door.”

Martin’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he turned to face the yellow door in front of him. This was it. There was nowhere to run. He could try and fight Elias, but the man’s got powers he doesn’t even know of. Maybe death would be quicker than facing whatever monstrosity is behind the stand-alone door. Maybe he’d die the instant he crossed over. Maybe-.

“Enough thinking, Martin. Go. On,” frustration seeped through the edges of Elias’s tone and, on instinct, Martin took a step forward.

He reached a shaking hand toward the doorknob, fingers barely able to clutch the cool metal as they were quivering violently. Shutting his eyes, he grasped the knob firmly in his fist, and turned. The door swung open and Martin gasped.

On the other side, it was a pure acid dream. Martin had never done drugs, but this is exactly what he imagined them to look like. Inside the door, there was a hallway filled with other doors, all of different colors. The carpet was swimming with different shades of rainbow, causing his eyes to swirl the longer he looked at them. Every part of the inside was a different shape, different color, different everything. Paintings hung on the walls but every time his eyes glanced at them, they had turned into a different one. Martin wanted to shut his eyes, but he couldn’t. The constant brightness and also darkness wanted to swallow him whole, and he would let it, as long as he could stare at the hallway just a bit longer.

He felt a hand on the small of his back and before he knew it, he was plummeting through the doorway. Martin let out a pained yelp as he landed awkwardly on his arms and knees, scraping himself on the carpet. The rug burn stung as he clamored to his feet and turned around. Behind him was just a wall, no door in sight. The spell of the colorful hallway immediately wore off as he smacked a hand onto the swirling wall before him.

“Elias!” he screamed, pounding on the wall. “ELIAS! Elias, I’m sorry, please let me out. I’ll do anything. P-Please, I’m-,”

“He can’t hear you, little assistant,”

Martin whipped around, pushing himself back against the wall he was just hitting. There was nothing in front of him. He was, seemingly, alone.

“W-Who-, w-where are you?” Martin stuttered, blinking away tears that have started to well up in his eyes.

A laugh spiraled through the hallway and Martin fell back on the ground, the wall that he was leaning against, disappearing. He hit his head on the carpet, groaning in pain as he stared up at the swirling ceiling.

“I am not a who, assistant, I am a what,” the laugh started up again, causing Martin to shut his eyes as the sound made him feel as if his brain was turning to mush.

Great. He was going to be killed by some random entity. Probably in a ridiculously painful way. An entity he can’t even see.

Gathering up the last bit of courage he had, Martin spoke, “I-If you’re going to kill me, you might as well show yourself to me instead of speaking like some bogus disembodied voice.”

The laugh sounded again, this time filled with obvious delight, “Eager, aren’t we?”

Martin got up on shaky legs, starting to back away from where the sound was coming from until he hit something solid. When he turned around, he gasped in terror, jumping back.

In front of him was a man. No, it wasn’t a man. It most definitely wasn’t human. The monster stood at a whopping seven feet tall, long, gangly limbs stemming from its torso. It looked like a child’s drawing and imitation of a person, all weird angles and wrong proportions. Its hair haloed around its head, blond, curly, and wild just like the rest of his body. Michael’s eyes swam with colors that matched the hallway they were in, forever shifting and changing. Its smile was curved and enormously large, teeth bared and sharp. But its teeth were nothing compared to its hands. Martin almost fainted at the sight. Its fingers were much longer than a normal human’s, curved and sharp like impossible knives. They were at least 30 centimeters long each, but they were both growing and shortening as he gaped. He thought he might be cut just by looking at them for too long. A monster stood in front of him, and Martin was paralyzed.

The creature tilted its head, smile widening even more. It took a step towards him, looming over the man. “Left you speechless, little assistant?”

Martin tried to say something, say _ anything _ , but all that came out was a whimper as his eyes never left Michael’s face. It leaned closer, inches away from his neck. Was it  _ sniffing _ him?

“Your fear smells  _ wonderful _ ,” it sighed contently, “Delightful.”

At this, Martin’s tear ducts suddenly remembered how to work, as his eyes let loose a few stray droplets. Michael moved back, studying the frozen man in front of it. Martin was shaking, terror-stricken, scared to open his mouth because he couldn’t control what noises would come out. He shut his eyes, hoping that his death would at least be fast. What shocked him was when he felt a light hand on his chin. He flinched back out of instinct, but its hand held him still. He opened his eyes, glancing down at the elongated, sharpened fingers that covered half his face. They looked human, but felt like leather; it felt wrong.

He shut his eyes again, feeling Michael swipe a few tears with those fingers that threatened to cut him if he even moved a centimeter. It was surprisingly gentle, which made Martin cry harder. One last feeling of faux safety before it killed him. A trap, just another illusion, like this entire place was.

“Just make it quick, p-please,” Martin whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Michael made a thoughtful sound. “Make it quick?”

“Just kill me quickly, I-I don’t want it to hurt, I’m begging you,” Martin said, letting his head drop as Michael’s hands left him.

“Begging, are you now?” Martin could hear the smile in its voice, which made him tremble even harder. “Get on your knees.”

This is it. It’s over. Martin let himself drop to the floor like a man to his execution, which he presumed to be true. He sobbed quietly as Michael threaded its fingers into his hair to keep his head from dropping. 

“Are you going to do what you said, little assistant?”

Martin swallowed, feeling bile rise in his throat. “P-Please k-kill m-me,” he stuttered.

He waited, holding his breath. Michael continued to pet him, saying nor doing anything, as he finally quieted down, feeling the thin fingers shifting on his head. Martin now only took in shaking breath after breath, heart racing in his chest.

“Sadly, I won’t kill you, dear assistant. But, I must admit, your begging was quite amusing,” Michael murmured, hand curling around a strand of hair. “Wouldn’t want to satisfy the Watcher so quickly now, would we?”

Its fingers left his hair and Martin opened his eyes, but the monster was already gone. He was alone again. The man knew he probably shouldn’t open any of the doors around in the hallway, so he curled in on himself and passed out from exhaustion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've loved the feedback I've been getting so far, it's been so neat! Also, I will be now updating bi-weekly on Wednesdays and Saturdays, so yay on that! Leave a comment or two, and I hope you enjoy! <3

The first thing he felt was plush softness all around him, face pressed into warmth as he blearily lifted his head. Martin blinked his eyes open, yawning and rubbing his face to extinguish the last remnants of sleep from his mind. He looked around the room. Same old bed, same old couch, same old bookshelves, same old desk. So it was just a dream. A hideous nightmare.

Martin hummed to himself as he got up, realizing he was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. He yawned again, stumbling through the doorway, still half asleep as he walked into the kitchen. Except, it wasn’t a kitchen. Martin’s eyes widened when he realized he was in a swirling hallway. His heart stopped.

“No, no, no, no, no, no!” He panicked, turning around to go back into his room but the door was already gone.

He touched the smooth and colorful wall, feeling it shift beneath his fingertips as he slumped against it. It’s all real. Everything. Nowhere to escape to. At least he wasn’t crying anymore.

After a few moments of silence, Martin picked his head up again and started walking down the hallway. There seemed to be no end, except various twists and turns. He went right, realizing there was no point in just sitting and doing nothing. Maybe there was a way out of here. Martin has heard of the Spiral before. He remembered reading some statements about random doorways and people getting trapped and swallowed by the entity for all eternity. The thought terrified him, but how come Michael didn’t kill him then? Martin scoffed to himself. Probably just a plan to mess with him, torture him until he went mad.

Each turn he made led to a hallway that was the same as the last. His stomach growled, and Martin realized he hadn’t eaten anything since before he attempted to sabotage Elias. Maybe two days then? He doubted the Spiral had anything to eat so maybe this was its plan. Letting him wander the corridors until he eventually starved. Martin sighed. Well, what did he have to lose? He reached towards a random door and pulled it open.

There was a cliff in front of him. Darkness and mist swam below his feet and he took a step closer. He could feel the breeze on his face as he reached a hand through the doorway, the pleasant coolness wafting on his skin. Before he took a step into the fog, Martin felt a hand grip his collar and pull him back into the hallway. Martin made a noise of surprise as he lay sprawled on the swirling carpet, staring up at the creature above him.

“I wouldn’t recommend doing that,” Michael said, shutting the door swiftly.

“I- were you watching me?” Martin said, picking himself off the floor.

Michael cocked its head to the side, “Of course. This is my domain. I see everything here.”

Martin mentally face-palmed himself, “Of course, yeah. Uh, what happens if I open the doors?”

Michael smiled unnaturally, its grin defying every rule of physics, “I don’t think you’d like to find out, little assistant. Something worse than being trapped in my corridors, I can promise you that.”

“I- okay. T-That makes sense, I guess.”

Michael continued looking at him, observing his every twitch and stutter. Martin grew uncomfortable at its gaze, starting to fidget even more.

“W-Why do you keep looking at me? It’s weird,” he said, grounding himself.

Michael laughed, making Martin physically cringe at the sound, “I am weird. Your mannerisms are…amusing. Such nerves, such fear.”

“O-Okay,” Martin bit his lip, trying to ignore the way Micheal’s eyes followed the motion. “ I, um, do you have any food?”

The monster gave him a questioning look, “Food?”

“Like, something to eat. I haven’t eaten in a while and I’m hungry.”

“Hungry?”

Martin did his best not to sound annoyed, “Yes, if I don’t eat something, I will start to feel dizzy, and I can die. I thought you said you didn’t want to kill me so-,”

“That’s correct.”

“So do you have anything? To eat, that is?”

Michael made a thoughtful sound, “No. But pets need food, don’t they?”

“I’m not a pet,” Martin muttered under his breath.

Micheal pretended not to hear him, “So tell me, little assistant, where do we get your food?”

Martin raised his eyebrows, “W-Well, uh, I suppose a grocery store? But that’s outside whatever this place is so-,”

“Alright then, let us go to this grocery store,” Michael stated, instantly materializing a door in front of the both of them.

Martin’s eyes widened as he took a step back, “I- that’s it? Y-You’re going to let me go?”

Michael laughed in a piercing way, voice echoing down the hallway, “Such humor! This was a good choice on my part, I’ll admit. Of course, I’m not going to let you go. We’re going to go together to this grocery store. Get whatever you need so you don’t die without my permission.”

Martin clenched his teeth at Michael’s last sentence but nodded. At least he could leave this eyesore for a place for at least a moment. Michael smiled and reached out a hand, using the other to open the door. Martin stared at the long, sharp fingers nervously. He glanced at the now-open door, seeing as it led to a simple convenience store. Like the one, he could always find near his flat.

“Come on, little assistant, I don’t bite,” Michael smirked. “At least not yet.”

Martin shuddered before he took the creature’s hand, trying not to flinch away as the sharp claws wrapped around his whole hand almost twice around. Before he could say anything, he was pulled inside.

The neon-white lighting made him squint as he gripped Michael’s hand, trying to get a bearing of his coordinates. Michael chucked, causing Martin to make an embarrassed huff as he let go. He went to grab a shopping cart, glancing back to see Michael stalking behind him, surveying his every move. He sighed, pushing the cart through the aisles. Martin stopped in the pasta section, picking out some spaghetti and tomato sauce, thinking that this would be the simplest to make. Michael watched from behind, getting way too close as he read the labels. Martin’s heart started racing as he felt the monster’s hair tickling his neck, suppressing a shiver.

“M-Michael, do you have a kitchen?” he asked, placing the food into the cart.

“I can create one. It’s my domain,” it answered matter-of-factly.

“I-, of course, yeah,” Martin said, continuing to push the cart until he reached the fruit and vegetable section.

He picked out some apples and strawberries, as well as a packaged salad. Turning his head, he almost burst out laughing when he saw Michael sniffing an avocado. It looked so confused that this just all seemed absurd. Martin wanted to cry again at how insane this whole situation was. He exhaled and turned toward it.

“Do you want that?”

Michael set down the vegetable, “No.”

Martin made a face, then remembered that he was dealing with an all-powerful, god-like entity that could destroy him before he would even see it coming. No matter how lost it looked being around human things, it was probably playing another game of lies. He grabbed a few more items, such as bagels and muffins, as well as some sweets for dessert. Might as well make the best of this since who knows when Michael might get bored at then decide to kill him?

Walking to the cashier line, Martin put everything out, letting the woman working scan his items.

“Form of payment, sir?”

Martin’s eyes got wide as he quickly looked at Michael, who stepped forward. The woman didn’t seem to notice how absolutely strange it looked and just patiently waited. It materialized coins in the palm of its hand, letting the cashier take them. She nodded and handed them their bags, wishing them a pleasant evening. Martin said nothing as Michael materialized another door and placed a spindly hand on his shoulder, guiding him through.

“Was that real money you gave that lady?” Martin asked as soon as they were back in the domain.

Michael shrugged, smiling coyly, “As real as she wanted it to be.”

“T-That’s not, you can’t-,” Martin stuttered, visibly upset at the fact that the entity of deceit tricked someone.

Michael chuckled, still not releasing Martin from its grip, which the man had just realized. He shrugged it off, and Michael let him.

“So, uh, kitchen?” Martin asked, shifting the paper bags in his arms.

“Of course, little assistant,” Michael said, extending itself to one of the doors in the walls of the hallway, pulling it open.

Martin walked in, slightly shocked at how nice it was. It was a pristine, modern kitchen, one that might belong in a mansion instead of the creepy, colorful hotel that it was located in. Everything was white and gray marble, spotless, and glistening. In the middle of the kitchen, there was a dining table. Martin walked in with little hesitation, setting the supplies down on the counter. There was a silver fridge to his right that was whirring gently in the quiet. Martin walked to the sink and opened a cupboard, surprised that there were plates and bowls, all ready to use. In one of the cabinets below him, there were other cooking supplies and silverware.

“You made all this? H-How-,” Martin murmured in awe.

He never really liked to cook in his dingy, old flat but he wouldn’t mind doing it here. It was... nice. A good break from the craziness of the Spiral.

“Once again, my domain, my rules,” Michael stated, sounding only a bit annoyed.

“Alright, well, uh, I’ll get started then, I guess,” Martin stammered, taking out the food from his grocery bags.

Michael stood in front of the closed door, leaning against it, watching the man work. Martin felt its eyes tracking his every move and shuddered at the feeling. He did his best not to feel too uncomfortable. At least he had food, and it did seem like the creature didn’t have any intention of killing him, for at least the current moment. If it wanted to play house, Martin could do a lot worse.

He filled the pot up with water, setting it on the stove to heat up. When it started boiling, he felt something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Martin glanced behind him, and jumped back, startled, almost knocking off the pot of hot water as Michael loomed over him. He caught himself on the stove with his left hand, letting out a screech of pain.

“Ah, fuck! Jesus Christ, ah!” Martin hissed, nurturing his burned hand. “Michael, don’t you know personal boundaries!”

Michael raised its eyebrows, not commenting on Martin’s outburst, “Personal boundaries?”

Martin groaned, clenching his teeth, “Yes! I-It’s like when you don’t want people to be too close to you. Personal space.”

Michael smirked,“You don’t want me to stand close to you?”

Martin’s face flamed red, “I-I, uh, y-yes! Of course I-I don’t want you to! One wrong move with those h-hands of yours and I’m dead!”

“Just a day ago, you were begging me to kill you,” Michael shrugged, smile never easing off its face. “Hmmm.”

Martin made a strangled, frustrated sound, turning off the stove so he could take care of his sweltering hand, “Jesus, ouch.”

“Does that hurt?”

“Yes, Michael,” Martin rolled his eyes. “When I touch something hot, it burns my skin, causing pain. That’s what happens to regular humans. Now, I need to find a bandaid or something to-,”

“No need, little assistant. Give it here,” Michael said, reaching its sharp fingers toward him.

Martin narrowed his eyes but decided not to fight it. He gave Michael his hand, watching as it turned it over, palm facing toward its face. It tutted at the inflamed skin, causing Martin’s cheeks to inflame as well from embarrassment. He turned even darker crimson as Michael placed its mouth over the burn. Martin felt its tongue press against the injured skin, saliva cooling the spot down. He was frozen, speechless, until Michael flitted its eyes towards him, still sucking on his hand. At this, Martin ripped his hand away, stumbling to the other side of the kitchen.

“What the fuck! W-What, w-why, hnng, uh, w-why did you, what is WRONG-,”

“Check your hand,” Michael shrugged.

Martin opened his shaking palm, raising his eyebrows when he noticed that the mark was completely healed, “What.”

Michael giggled, causing Martin to cringe out of instinct, “Just knit your skin back together. Skin is funny that way.”

“Y-Yeah, I guess,” Martin said, stepping back to turn on the stove. “Did you have to do it with your mouth, ugh, jeez?”

“No,” Michael smiled. “I thought it would be more fun that way.”

“Right.”

Martin shuddered, wiping his hands on his pants. For the remainder of the time that Martin cooked, Michael left him alone. It was silent, except for the pleasant sounds of domesticity that made Martin feel like he was back in normalcy. He had to admit, though, that he hadn’t felt true normalcy for a while. When he was done, he removed two bowls and filled them up with noodles and sauce, taking out utensils to go with them. Turning off the stove, Martin walked to the dining table and placed both bowls down, looking at Michael expectantly. It looks back at him.

“Aren’t you going to sit down?”

Michael raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, pulling out the chair and setting itself down on it. It looked at the second bowl of food that Martin hadn’t taken for himself.

“Do you eat?” Martin asked, biting down on some noodles.

Michael took a beat to think, “Yes.”

“What?”

Michael stayed silent, a slight smile playing at its lips. Martin took the hint and nodded; he didn’t want to know.

“Can you eat human food?”

“I suppose so,” Michael said, glancing at the pasta. “Are you inviting me to try your creation?”

Martin choked on his food “I-If you want?”

Michael hummed and speared some noodles into its mouth. Martin watched but looked away when Michael caught him staring. It finished quicker than Martin, setting the fork into the bowl and leaning back against the chair. Martin said nothing, eating the last bites before doing the same.

“Did you like it?” Martin asked, breaking the silence.

Michael made a thoughtful sound. “It wasn’t unpleasant.”

“Alright,” he sighed at the vague answer. “How can I get back to this kitchen after I leave the room?”

Michael’s eyes sparkled for a moment before it shot up, “You know what I’m going to do for you, little assistant?”

Martin automatically flinched back, slightly gripping the table, “Uh, what?”

Its eyes glimmered, “I’ll make you your own little special corridor! You can have a nice little room, kitchen, bathroom, and anything else you’d need! Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“So, like a hamster cage,” Martin said.

Michael’s eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s uh- nevermind,” Martin gave up, standing up. “Y-Yes, that actually would be nice. Thank you, Michael.”

“Of course.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday!! I'm actually pretty proud of this chapter and how it ended up, so I hope y'all enjoy it:) We do be making monsters have feelings tho. Remember to leave comments and kudos! <3

An era of domesticity soon became reality in the Martin-Michael household. Michael kept its promise in creating a little safe haven of sorts for the man. There was a part of the endless, confusing corridors section off just for him. Of course, Martin could leave the place that he half-jokingly called a “hamster cage,” but he decided that that course of action probably wouldn’t be best. He tried it once, but then got lost and spent quite some time wandering the hallways until Michael had to collect him. It was humiliating, but it was either dying of starvation and madness or dealing with Michael smugness for some time. Martin chose the latter.

It was like a vacation, and even though Martin hated to admit it, it wasn’t the absolute worst. Michael didn’t leave him alone as often as he would like it to, but it wasn’t unbearable. It would only occasionally watch him sleep, but after Martin yelled at it to get out of his room, Michael randomly showing up while he napped became less frequent, at least to his knowledge. Maybe Michael just became sneakier with its creepiness, but he hoped that it just laid off him.

Martin’s room was definitely better than the one he used to have in his flat. It was large and spacious, with a king size bed in the middle. It resembled a hotel suite, and Michael created a fake window that resembled the downtown-London area as a sort of present since Martin was being “a good pet.” Martin scowled at this comment and mumbled a retort, which Michael just laughed at like it always did. He tried to tell it that he had never lived in London because he didn’t have the means nor money to, but decided against it. Maybe it was good to play out the fantasy of living in better circumstances. On quiet nights, he would sit by the desk in front of the window and just watch people mill around beneath him. Martin had no clue how Michael managed to create a live feed of some random apartment in London but decided that it wouldn’t matter much anyway. Just another illusion.

There were a few notebooks on the desk as well as some utensils and lamps. A sofa lay on the opposite side of the room so that if he stretched out on it, he could watch the bustle of traffic as he wrote poetry about the life he could have had; the life he wished he had. The faux-window was the only way for Martin to tell if it was day or night. Two black lamps guarded each side of the bed on nightstands, a small clock on the side closest to the door. Martin soon realized that the clock was just for decoration as whenever he looked at it, the numbers switched places or turned into different symbols entirely.

He had three other doors inside of his room, at least to his knowledge. There was a bathroom that was about three times bigger than the one in his old flat. It was a pristine, obsidian black, modeled in a modern fashion with both a bathtub with jets as well as a shower with multiple nozzles on each side of the wall. The second door led to the kitchen that Michael created on one of his first days here, and the third was the walk-in closet where Martin housed all of his clothes. A few days into his stay at the Distortion Hotel, Martin realized his clothes were starting to smell awful and asked Michael for a laundry machine. Michael had contorted its eyebrows in confusion, waved a hand, and his clothes were like new. When Martin asked to get more clothes, Michael finally obliged and they went to Martin’s old flat. It wandered around his flat, picking at random objects that Martin yielded no attention to. He simply packed up two suitcases of clothes and other memorabilia and went back through the door to his current room.

Michael let Martin go to the grocery whenever food started to run low, sometimes accompanying him, sometimes just waiting by its door until Martin was done shopping. It joined him for dinner most nights, keeping him company as it kindly nibbled on whatever Martin had prepared. Then, Michael would leave to do whatever immortal monsters do and Martin would retire to his bedroom to write, read, or sleep. Tonight, though, Martin decided to go through the corridors again to stretch his legs since he knew that Michael wouldn’t let him go insane. It was shockingly nice, the thought that such a seemingly terrifying creature wouldn’t let him die. What has his life come to?

Martin went through the kitchen and into the bowling-alley-esque hallway. The bright lights never ceased to startle him and he squinted, letting himself adjust to the glare. As he turned his head, he noticed a door in the middle of the corridor.

“Huh,” Martin said, cocking his head. “That’s never been there before.”

Martin knew the paths were ever-changing but this was new. He walked towards it, the stark brown color of the door making it stand out from the rainbow swirls around it. As he got closer, he heard voices behind it. And one sounded familiar. Martin’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to place the quiet voice before he realized it. Jon.

Without a second thought, he wrenched the door open and stepped through the entryway.

“You took him somewh- Martin?”

Martin turned his head to the left, mouth falling open when he saw his ex-boss (and crush), “J-Jon!”

Martin rushed forward and hugged the gangly man, wrapping his arms around so hard that he thought he might suffocate him. For a moment, the familiar smell of books and coffee enveloped him, and he was home.

“Aren’t you two the cutest, hmm?”

Martin’s eyes shot open and he turned around, seeing Michael stand by its door. “M-Michael! I-,”

Jon took a step in front of Martin, shielding him from it, “It’s over, Michael. Martin’s staying with me.”

“A-Actually, J-,”

Michael sneered, “Actually, dear archivist, your little assistant is under my protection after your Watcher sent him to me to be killed.”

“I-If you’d just let me-,”

“Well, thanks for not killing him, since that’s all you avatar-types are good for. Martin’s coming with me and-,”

“Will you two just shut it?!” Martin shouted, stepping in between Jon and Michael. “Stop fighting over me, I’m not that special so hush now.”

He turned to Jon and sighed, “Michael’s right, Jon. Elias did send me to be killed but Michael, actually, kinda saved me?”

Jon’s eyes widened as he furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at the smug monster behind him, “Martin, you’re  _ fine _ with this?!”

Martin shrugged and fiddled with the hem of his sweater, “I mean, I guess? I have my own place in the Spiral. I’ve got food, books, I can go outside if I want with Michael nearby. It’s not the worst, you know?”

“He’s safe, archivist,” Michael smiled, taking a step towards Martin, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Safer than with you.”

“M-Martin, I could protect you, you know? I mean, I’ve got all these weird powers now-,”

Martin blinked, “You’ve got  _ what  _ now?”

Jon clenched his hands, “I mean, after I woke up from my coma, I-.”

Martin wrenched himself from Michael’s grip and grabbed Jon by the arms, “You woke up from your  _ WHAT _ !”

Jon ran a hand through his long, tangled hair, “You didn’t know?”

“I’ve been gone since I tried to get Elias arrested,” Martin said exasperated. “H-How long has it been?”

“Martin, it’s been over eight months since the explosion of the circus.”

Martin looked up at Jon, feeling lightheaded, “T-The explosion?” He gripped the edge of Jon’s desk as he faltered.

Jon looked at him with sad eyes, “Yeah, uh, I thought you knew but, um, everyone is fine, we had some trouble with Daisy but she’s okay now. But, uh, I’m sorry, Tim’s-, Tim’s dead.”

Martin felt bile rise in his throat but he swallowed it, trying to even out his breaths. His hand loosened and he took a few steps back, before almost falling. As soon as his knees gave out, Michael was on him, holding him up in those shifting, wrong arms. Its sharp fingers wrapped around his wrists as Martin slumped back, resting his head against its chest. Jon watched, narrowing his eyes and the surprisingly gentle behavior expressed by the Spiral entity. Martin took a shuddering breath and lifted himself off of Michael, who wordlessly let him go.

“I’m okay, s-sorry, just a shock,” Martin sniffed, shaking his head.

“Martin-,”

“I’m fine, Jon,” Martin cut him off. “I’m just tired. It’s late. I, uh, we’ll see each other, yeah?”

“Of course, Martin,” Jon nodded, clenching his teeth at the way that Micheal took the man’s arm in its hand. “You, or, er, Michael, know where to find me.”

“Y-Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you. Bye, Jon,” Martin said weakly, trying to stop himself from bursting into tears.

Jon looked like he wanted to say something else, as if to beg Martin to stay, but he let the other man go. Michael gave Jon a wink and opened the door for Martin, leading them both back into the swirly hallways. As soon as he was away from Jon, Martin collapsed on the ground, sobbing.

“Fuck, T-Tim’s gone,” he wept, clutching his chest. “One of my last friends is dead. First Sasha, now Tim. And Jon was in a coma for half a year and I didn’t know! I sat here, making pasta and playing house with a monster while he was fighting for his life. I-I, I w-was,”

Martin’s breathing started to get more erratic as he struggled to get more air into his lungs. He choked on his tears, coughing and crying on the floor. He dry- heaved, entire body shaking with grief before Michael knelt in front of him, looking slightly concerned.

“What is happening to you?” it said, tilting its head.

Martin barked out a laugh before it was overshadowed by hiccupping, “I-I’m, I think I-I, uh, oh God, p-panic attack, c-can’t breath,” he coughed out.

Michael nodded, taking a beat before kneeling down and wrapping its arms around the trembling man. For a moment, Martin stiffened in its grasp. But this time, Martin’s survival instinct lost out as he melted into its touch, hugging the creature back and sobbing into its hair. It was weirdly soft, like string instead of barbed wire which is what he assumed it might feel like. He blubbered out some incoherable words into Michael’s chest as it shushed him.

“Would you like to go to your room, assistant?”

Martin whimpered out an answer, which Michael took as a yes. It picked him up effortlessly and under normal circumstances, Martin might have fought it on being carried. But he was too tired, too drained to do anything except go with whatever Michael did. He was soon placed onto his bed, and Martin wiped his eyes blearily; his hand came away wet with tears. When Michael started to move away from the bed, Martin quickly reached out a hand to grab at its shirt sleeve.

“Wait, M-Michael.”

It stopped in its footsteps, turning toward him. It wore a somber gaze on its face that Martin has never seen before. It looked pained; an emotion he didn’t expect it to be able to express. Even this all-powerful creature felt pity for him. Tears started to brim at his eyes once again.

“P-Please stay, Michael,” he choked, feeling the familiar push on his chest. “I-I can’t be alone right n-now.”

Michael said nothing as it walked toward him and opened its arms, taking Martin in them. Martin held its strangely-shaped, lanky body in his arms as he cried into its shirt collar. He pushed further into its chest as he felt one of Michael’s hands leave his back and press into his hair, gently petting it. He shifted in its grasp, letting out a shaky breath at the comforting feeling. It was absurd. This whole situation was insane. It continued holding and stroking him in silence. Even as Martin was starting to doze off, Michael continued letting its hand travel from his head down his back.

“Sleep, Martin. I’ve got you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo!! New chapter that's semi-short but still valid (hopefully). As always, please feel free to leave comments and kudos!! <3

Martin woke up clutching a pillow to his chest, bed barren with all except for his cold body. He was still wearing the same shirt and trousers from the prior day. He shivered and wrung the blanket around his body, sitting up. It was odd. The temperature was always quite perfect in his room, always the way he desired it to be. Martin rubbed at his eyes, slightly crusted over from last night’s tears. He remembered Tim and his fate, but he felt surprisingly okay. It didn’t hurt as much as it did last night. Weird.

He got off of the bed, the blanket still pulled tightly around his body as he walked into the kitchen. Taking out a kettle, Martin poured some water in and put it on the stove. Maybe some hot tea would help him. He leaned against the counter, watching water start to bubble in a hazy way. He could stay like this for hours, just gazing.

“Hello, little assistant.”

Martin made a sound and turned around, seeing Michael at the dining table, “Oh, hello, Michael.”

Michael didn’t respond. Instead, it followed Martin’s movements as he poured himself tea before he sat down in front of the creature. They didn’t talk as Martin nursed his cup, trying desperately to warm up. The man looked up, finding Michael’s eyes right on his.

“What?”

Michael chuckled, “Oh nothing, dear assistant. Just curious to see how you’re doing.”

Martin shrugged, “Fine, I guess?”

“Then it worked,” Michael’s eyes twinkled.

Martin knit his eyebrows together and set the mug down, “What worked?”

The monster laughed, obviously pleased with itself as it leaned back against its chair. “I took your pain away. That silly little emotion that had you so upset yesterday. I wasn’t fond of it. I believe you humans would say, thank you?”

Martin stared at it, blinking slowly, “You  _ what _ now?”

“I took your pai-.”

Martin stood up from the table, jostling it so the cup almost tipped over, “I heard you the first time! You-, You can’t be doing that, Michael!”

“Why not?” it said, a look of puzzlement spreading across its face.

Martin gave out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You just can’t! They’re my emotions. Even if they hurt, they’re still mine! It makes me human. It makes me not like y-,” Martin stopped.

Michael’s eyes narrowed, “It makes you not like me. A monster.”

Martin bit his lip, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry, you know what I mean. Look, just, give it back, please.”

“Fine, assistant,” Michael said, getting up from its chair and standing at its full height, making Martin tilt his head up in order to keep its gaze. “But it will hurt. Again.”

Martin sighed, “Yeah, I know. I’ll be okay.”

Michael gestured for him to go back to his bedroom and Martin obliged. He went to sit on the couch by his writing desk and window so he could watch the midday lunch rush mill around below him. He felt Michael sit down beside him but it stayed quiet, waiting for him to turn around. Martin took a deep breath and faced it, almost immediately becoming overwhelmed by its appearance. It never failed to take his breath away. Blonde hair haloing around its head, painfully bright clothes that it never changed out of, and eyes swirling with colors Martin didn’t even know existed. He blinked, trying to get himself to focus. Michael didn’t seem to notice.

“How does this work?”

“I’m going to put my hands on your head, and your pain will return. Just as it was yesterday and how I’m assuming it will remain for some time,” Michael said, reaching his fingers towards Martin.

“Wait!” Martin flinched back, causing it to stop in its motions. “Just, ah, you’re not going to pierce my skull or anything?”

Michael laughed sharply, its form shifting a bit, “You’ve had my hands on your skin before, little assistant. What makes you fear them now?”

“I-,” Martin stammered, feeling the familiar flush of heat rise from his neck to his cheeks.

Michael was right. He had let it touch him so many times, and didn’t resist it. Especially last night, when its hands held him to its chest until he fell asleep. Even more embarrassing was the realization that the heat was traveling down to his hips and lower, which made him cough and force himself to think dark thoughts. This wasn’t the time.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry,” Martin said, nervously picking at his nails. “Go ahead.”

With a contented smirk, Michael reached up again and held the man’s head in between its fingers. Martin took a deep breath and waited. Maybe it wasn’t going to work. Maybe it-.

“Ah!” Martin gasped, eyes rolling back into his head as his hand shot out to grip Michael’s wrist.

Every feeling came back within seconds. He gasped as Michael’s hands left his temples but his fingers stayed clasped around its wrist, holding it like a lifeline. Tim and his death, Jon, everything was there and it was overwhelming.

“Make it stop,” Martin sobbed, folding in on himself so that his head was on Michael’s lap. “P-Please, I can’t-,”

“No.”

Martin cried harder, chest straining as he heaved. After a few moments, he managed to calm down and sit up again, sniffling into his shirt. He looked around for a tissue, which Michael provided without a word. He mumbled out a weak ‘thanks’ before blowing his nose.

“How are you feeling, Martin?”

“I mean, it hurts but it feels normal so I gue- wait did you call me Martin?” Martin said, eyes widening.

“Isn’t that your name, little assistant?” Michael smiled, fangs peeking out from its lips.

Martin blinked, taken aback, “Y-Yeah, you’ve just never called me by my name before.”

“Huh,” Michael said thoughtfully. “I called you by your name when I was in your bed and you laid on my body. You might have been unconscious by then though.”

Martin spluttered out something incoherable and got up from the couch, turning around and pressing his cold hands against his cheeks, “Michael, you can’t say stuff like that!”

Michael got up, towering over Martin, “Like what? I tell no lies here, dear assistant. Even as the Deceiver I remain truthful with you.”

Martin made a frustrated noise, continuing to hold his hands to face in a pitiful attempt to hide his fluster, “I  _ get _ it but-.” He looked down at the ground.

“But what?” Michael said, taking a step closer as it took Martin’s wrists in his fingers. “Why are you covering your face?”

Martin’s eyes got wider and he was sure he was completely red by now. He was scared, no, scared was the wrong word, of looking directly at the entity as if he would turn to stone the second he did. He could imagine the look on Michael’s face and he wasn’t sure what he would do when he made eye contact with it.

“Your pulse is racing, little assistant,” it said, tightening its fingers around his wrists. “Are you frightened of me?”

“No,” Martin mustered out, trying his best to sound confident.

“You’re avoiding eye contact.”

At this, Martin definitely looked back up, catching its gaze. Its eyes were rainbow spirals that he knew would hypnotize him if he stared too long. It wasn’t smiling, but it wasn’t frowning either. The corner of its right lip was crooked but his lips remained pressed firmly together. Strands of yellow-white fell near its taunt cheekbones that made his shallow face stand out even more. It was so close, centimeters away, he could just-.

“Stop,” Martin said, letting out a shaky breath. “I-I can’t do this right now. I don’t-,”

Michael cut him off with a ‘shush’ and let his hands go, dropping its own to its side. “Would you like to be left alone, dear assistant?” Its tone was completely neutral.

Martin hesitated. He wanted to say no. He wanted to ask Michael to stay with him and hold him, let it run those knife-like fingers through his hair and down his body. To comfort him like it did last night, bringing out a humanity that he didn’t think existed anymore. His heart begged him to tell Michael to not leave but Martin looked at the floor, nodding his head instead.

Michael mirrored the action, face completely unreadable as it vanished. Martin lifted his head and stared at the spot where it once stood for a few minutes before walking to his desk. He pulled out a notebook and a pen and began writing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll are gonna like the next chapter, I'm just saying... I split it in two because it was quite long so this is the first part!! See ya Wednesday! <3

Martin’s journal was soon filled up with every single painful memory he could think of and when he was done, he put it into one of his cabinets. He sighed, knowing he would probably not open it again seeing as there was enough trauma there to last multiple lifetimes. Over the past couple of days, Michael visited him a few times, but only when Martin called for it. At least the creature was respecting his space for the first time so far, and he appreciated that.

He thought about reaching out to Jon but decided that it might be best to wait a bit. Who knew what Elias was planning and he knew that his ex-boss wouldn’t be pleased to find him alive and well. Martin decided he would connect with Jon in a week; maybe drink some tea with him. The man laughed at the domesticity of it all. It could be like he always imagined when he dreamed about dating Jon. The thought still filled him with a slight pang of longing, but it wasn’t as strong as it used to be. He shook his head at the memories. Maybe going outside would do him some good.

Martin stood up from the desk chair and walked over to the window. It was lunchtime and people were crowding at various street food vendors. His stomach grumbled and Martin realized just how much he missed fast food. Quickly combing his hair through with his hands, Martin straightened out his clothes and went into the hallways.

“Michael? Are you there?”

“I am neither here nor there nor anywhere, little assistant,” a voice sounded from behind.

Martin jostled, grabbing at his chest. Jesus, he would never get used to that, “I, uh, would like to go outside. I mean, if you’re free-?”

Michael laughed, making the hairs on Martin’s arms stand up, “As anything serving the Spiral could be free. Yes, I am available. Where to, assistant?”

Martin fidgeted under its gaze, “Maybe just the main city? I-I miss people and stores, but I know Elias-,”

Michael raised a hand and silenced him, “Worry not about Elias Bouchard. The Watcher won’t see you, I’ll make sure of it. Just like humans can’t see my form, they won’t see the true you. Let us go, then.”

With that, Michael created a door out of thin air and opened the doorknob. As always, it reached a handout, stepping halfway through the frame and casting its signature, toothy smile. Martin responded with a nervous one and took its hand, its fingers wrapped twice around his hand before pulling him in. Martin gasped at the force as he collided with the monster, hand shooting up to steady himself on its chest. He felt it laugh from the vibrations of its chest, making him squirm away in embarrassment, but he didn’t let go of its hand as they stepped out into the sun.

Michael dropped his hand, causing another weird pang to echo in his heart, making him shake his head in annoyance. He cannot be falling for a monster. Sure, it may be hellbent on protecting him, but who knows for how long that will last? But it didn’t seem like it wanted to end him, or maybe it was just an amazing liar. After all, it was the throat of delusion incarnate.

“Martin?”

Michael’s concerned voice brought him out of his thoughts, “Hmm?”

“I was asking if there’s anywhere you’d like to go?” Michael said, its form shifting as Martin looked at it.

“Oh, I-uh, I was thinking we’d maybe get some food?”

Michael frowned, “Don’t you have food at home?”

Martin slightly flinched at the word  _ home _ but didn’t say anything about it, “Yes, but this is different food. I’m not the best cook and sometimes it gets boring.”

“I think you make fine food, assistant,” Michael responded, shrugging as they started walking to a noodle place. 

“Thanks, Michael,” Martin rolled his eyes. “But that’s not much of a compliment coming from an entity that doesn’t need to eat.”

“On the contrary, dearest, I would concur it’s more of a compliment because I am not burdened with the need of satisfying hunger. Instead, I’ve eaten your meals simply for pleasure.”

Martin blushed but couldn’t disagree with it, “Yeah, alright. But this food is actually good. I used to get this on Fridays after work. It always was-,”

Martin rambled on about his workdays and his favorite food to eat for both lunch and dinner. Michael just listened, making slight remarks once in a while which led to Martin giggling. He ordered food for the both of them, requesting two different meals since Michael wanted something other than what Martin was having. He didn’t understand why, but it was Michael’s “money” he was spending so he wasn’t about to fight it on the demand. They walked to a small park, even though Michael offered to have them use its door. In the middle of the park, there was a bench and a pond near. Martin sat down and unboxed the food, handing Michael some wok and a fork.

“It’s the same as pasta, but better spiced,” he said, before digging into his own box.

They sat in a comfortable silence, Martin sneaking glances at Michael to make sure it was enjoying what he picked out for it. Michael watched him as much as it pleased, not worried about embarrassment.

“Can I try yours?”

Martin looked up, mouth full. He started frantically chewing and then swallowed, nodding to Michael and handing it the container. It took it and dipped its fork in, taking a bite. It made a contented sigh and gave Martin back the container. The man continued watching as it put more noodles on its fork and lifted it to Martin’s face. Martin moved back, confused.

“Here,” Michael said, shifting closer. “It’s only fair, little assistant.”

Martin gulped and leaned forward, trying to ignore the way Michael’s eyes traced his face as he opened his mouth. It gently placed the food in his mouth and Martin closed his mouth around the plastic, closing his eyes as he could feel his body burn. But as he moved back, Martin glanced up and found Michael’s eyes. It was watching him with such hunger that Martin thought it might pounce on him right in public. It was distorting more rapidly than before, hair moving restlessly around like worms as its body remained frozen in place. Its mouth opened a bit and Martin could see its fangs peeking out as its tongue licked its bottom lip, and that was enough for the ex-assistant. Martin choked and shot back to the other side of the bench, spluttering as his vision swam. When he looked up again, Michael was back to eating its own meal and looking at the ducks in the pond as if nothing had happened.

“Bastard,” Martin muttered under his breath and finished off his box.

He stood up and threw away his remains into a bin beside the bench, and Michael followed suit. He wondered if it ever threw away anything before, but decided that there were probably a lot of human things that Michael has never done.

“Wanna go to that bookstore?” he asked, pointing to a small, hidden store near the train station.

Michael shrugged, “Don’t you have enough books already?”

Martin shook his head and laughed lightly, “I mean, yeah, but I like looking at books. It’s just… nice.”

“Alright, little assistant, let’s go then.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HO HO this was a FUN chapter to write~ definitely lots more of this type of shenanigans to come, just you wait,,, Hope you enjoy and see ya Saturday! <3

Martin walked first and Michael trailed just a few steps behind him as if it was his own personal bodyguard. He guessed that was kind of true since the creature is what was wedged between him and sure death. The bookstore was clearly very old, which was Martin’s absolute favorite type of bookstore. The little bell on top of the door clinked when they walked in, the clerk nodding to them without lifting his head. Michael trailed behind him as Martin immediately went to the poetry section, picking a few books off the shelves and flipping through them. He froze when he felt marshmallow-like hair press against his neck.

“Poetry?”

Martin smiled, dropping his shoulders, “Yeah! I write poetry, I mean, I-I’m not good, but it’s still fun.”

“Hm,” Michael said, stepping back to look at the higher shelves. “You should let me read some of your poems.”

Martin blushed, quickly shutting the book he was holding, “N-No, you wouldn’t like it.”

“I think I would.”

“I-uh, alright, then. Sure.”

Martin looked and saw a book a foot over his head, but he tried to reach it anyway.

“Here, let me,  _ little _ assistant,” Michael said, putting an emphasis on ‘little.’

Martin huffed but didn’t argue as it reached up with ease. Martin went for it but Michael smirked and moved it out of his grasp. Martin furrowed his eyebrows and lifted his hand again but Michael moved away, grin growing larger.

“What are you-?”

“Aren’t there some human words you say when someone does you a favor?” Michael beamed.

Martin scowled, grinding his teeth together, “Just give it, Michael.”

“No,” it said, opening it up and making faces of mock excitement. “I think I’ll keep it for myself, actually. Since I’m the one that got it.”

“Come on, Michael, just-,” Martin reached for the book again, causing him to make contact with the creature, whose eyes glimmered even more. “Please, thank you?”

Michael handed him the book, which Martin took with a huff, “Now, was that so hard?”

“Shut up,” he said, hugging the book to his chest.

“Michael Shelley liked this place,” Michael said suddenly, eyes scouring the crowded room.

Martin turned and faced it, “Michael Shelley? Like, the person that you inhabit?”

Michael shook its head, “Not exactly. I am Michael Shelley, at least in theory. I have his body, his memories, his emotions. Or, at least the emotions he had before his death. Michael Shelley is gone, and I am just a distorted version of the person he once was.”

“Oh,” Martin said, thinking to himself. “Did you kill Michael Shelley?”

Michael looked at him, face completely impassive, “In a way, yes. He is no more, and I am here.”

Martin’s heart sped up a bit and he took a step back, “O-Oh.”

Michael sighed, or at least imitated a sigh since it didn’t need to breathe, “If you’re worried that the same fate will befall you, Martin, do not worry. I told you I’m not going to kill you, and I won’t. If I wanted to kill you, trust me, I already would have.”

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better,” Martin muttered under his breath, looking down at the floor.

“Assitant,” Michael said, appearing before him and taking a hand in its own. “I’m going to protect you. I don’t exactly know why I want to, but I do. You’re safe with me, Martin.”

The kind and gentle way that this ferocious creature said his name made him melt, and he looked up. Its face was the opposite of the neutral state it was always in, and it made his heart hurt. It was so close, and the hand wrapped around his own wasn’t helping. All he had to do was lean in and press himself against the one being that cared about him. Except for Jon, of course. Jon. But Jon felt like an afterthought instead of a constant presence, and Martin pushed it down.

“Okay.”

After they left the store, they walked back to the main square and watched various trolleys, cars, and buses drive by on the street. The streetlamps had turned on and people were starting to return from working; the evening rush was beginning.

Martin used to be part of the crowd, squeezing himself in between other folks on the train. It was nice to just watch everyone board their respective vehicles instead of actually participating. The local violinist started playing a tune as more people arrived, and Martin smiled to himself. He swayed to the sound, humming quietly.

“Would you like to dance?”

He sprung out of his daydream, realizing that Michael was still here, “You know how to dance?”

Michael laughed sharply, but Martin had started to feel comfort in that sound, “I know some things, little assistant. I know more than you think.”

“But why dance with me?”

“You seem like someone who likes to dance, at least with someone else,” Michael replied. “Am I incorrect?”

Martin flushed, digging his nails into his palms, “N-No, you’re right.”

“Excellent!”

Without another word, Michael grabbed his hand in its own and let the other drop to Martin’s waist, spinning him to the music. Martin was tense at first, but soon he eased up, trusting Michael to keep them afloat. He laughed as the entity twirled him, before drawing him back into its chest.

“You’re really good at this!” Martin giggled, out of breath from the pleasant movement.

Michael smiled but said nothing as the song finally ended. As Martin was about to pull away, Michael pulled him back in and kissed him. 

Martin stiffened on instinct, eyes widening and hands freezing at his sides as it continued to press its lips to his own. They felt human enough, maybe just slightly off. Not a single thought was going through Martin’s head, except for whatever a string of exclamation points and question marks could mean. Michael had its eyes closed and arm around his waist, holding him in its grasp. It was chaste and sweet, a perfect first kiss. It didn’t push for more, just remained there until Martin finally regained control of his body and ripped himself out of its grip. Michael looked at him curiously as he took a step back, laughing awkwardly.

“Oh, uh, haha, um, yeah, that was, I-,” Martin spluttered, before accidentally walking off the curb and tripping backward.

He let out a gasp as he lost his footing before he was suspended in the air. Martin opened his eyes and looked up, seeing that Michael had caught him with ease. Martin stared at it, feeling that same empty-headed feeling he had just a few seconds ago. Nothing in his thoughts except Michael. It wore that crooked smug grin it always did when Martin did something that amused it.

“I wouldn’t say falling is the best-,”

“Shut up,”

Martin placed two shaky hands onto its face and dragged Michael down, pressing their lips together. Michael made a pleased sound, and immediately responded with similar enthusiasm, moving its head to the side. He threaded his hands into the ever-shifting hair of the creature above him as it held him tighter in its arms. It murmured something against him but Martin wasn’t in the mood to hear whatever snarky remark it had. That feeling in his chest was back and making him dizzy.

Martin wasn’t sure how Michael suddenly transported them, but it did. He gasped as his back smacked against an alley and he looked up, hands latched onto Michael’s forearms. Its eyes were practically glowing in the dim light of the city, and Martin was hypnotized. He couldn’t look away from that hungry look it was giving him, but as soon as it dove back in and kissed him, his eyes fluttered closed.

The kiss became rougher as Martin opened his mouth to give the monster entry, who obliged with no hesitation. Its tongue was long and sharp at the end, and the unique feel was enough to make Martin moan. Michael shuddered in response, pinning him even tighter against the wall. It pulled away, moving down his chin and onto his neck, licking up a stripe.

“Michael- fuck, how do you-,”

Michael shushed him, nipping at a sensitive spot and causing Martin to whimper out loud, “Questions and answers later, little assistant.”

Martin nodded quickly as it brushed its fangs against the same spot. Martin groaned and moved his face to the side in order to give Michael more access. He could feel it smile against him in response as its left hand traveled down his back to hold them closer together. The heat from Martin’s body was warming them both up and Michael’s cool breath was the perfect, contrasting reaction that the man was craving.

“Is this alright?” Michael asked, dragging another canine down Martin’s neck.

Martin bit his lip to keep from moaning again, “Y-Yes, you’re, fuck, you’re good, do whatever you want I don’t care just p-please don’t stop.”

Martin was already hard and straining in his jeans just from kissing. Whatever Michael was doing to him was impossible, and he wanted it to never end.

“As you wish, dearest.”

That was all the warning Martin got as Michael bit down into his neck, latching on with its knee in between his legs. Martin gave the filthiest moan he ever let loose as he spasmed against the entity, hands shooting to its hair and yanking it in absolute desperation. Michael growled into his skin and came even closer, which Martin didn’t think to be possible.

He was muttering pure gibberish, begging incoherently as the longer Michael tongued at his blood, the more he unraveled. His knees gave out and Michael was the only thing holding him up as he keened against its touch. A jolt of pleasure suddenly ran through his body as his hips stuttered against its thigh, coming untouched with little friction. Martin leaned against the cold alley with his mouth open, taking gulps of air as he came off of his high. He whimpered from overstimulation as Michael pulled away, pupils so dark that no swirling pattern could be seen.

“What the hell just happened,” Martin said, still breathing hard. “You-, You made me come in my pants like a goddamn teenager!”

That same lopsided smile returned as Michael looked up and down, “It seems I have.”

Martin glanced down and saw the wet spot on his jeans and immediately reached down to cover himself with his jumper, “Jesus Christ, what the fuck, holy fuck.”

“I hope that’s a good reaction?” Michael asked, looking a bit concerned.

Martin made eye contact with it and all of his annoyance went away. He stepped forward and kissed it, tasting the metallic remnants of his own blood on his lips. He pulled away, trying not to cringe at the flavor.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about, but,” Martin said, taking Michael’s hand. “Yes, definitely a good reaction. Just a bit intense. But good. Very good.”

Michael smiled and pressed a light kiss to Martin’s hand before creating a door in front of them, “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s go home.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHORT ANNOUNCEMENT!! I'll be now updating weekly instead of biweekly (every Saturday) because I'm back in college and I don't have as much time to write:( Hope ya'll enjoy tho!! <3

When they arrived, Michael followed Martin into the kitchen. Still flustered from their encounter, Martin decided to make something that always calmed him down: tea. He put on the kettle and took out a cup, before turning around and raising an eyebrow at Michael.

“Tea?”

“Sure,” Michael responded, smiling as it sat down at the table.

Martin nodded and took out another mug and two teabags, waiting in a comfortable silence for the water to boil. He poured the hot water into both mugs and carried them to the table, setting one down next to Michael, who didn’t move to take it. Martin clutched his own cup in his hands and took a tentative sip, eyeing the entity in front of him.

“So, uh, that happened,” he started, mentally facepalming himself at his own awkwardness.

Michael smiled, fangs poking from its lips as it dipped a long finger into its tea, “Yes, it did.”

Martin took another gulp of warmth, trying to find the right words, but starting to get embarrassed all over again.

Michael leaned toward him, causing Martin to move back a bit on instinct. Michael laughed, “I thought you wanted to talk, dear assistant, but it seems like you aren’t saying a word.”

Martin made a frustrated sound and set his cup down, “I’m sorry, I’m bad at talking about stuff like this, just, give me a second.”

Michael nodded and settled back in its chair. The man exhaled and started.

“How did you learn to do stuff like that?”

Michael let out the most natural bark of laughter that Martin had ever heard, causing his ears to flush, “It’s a serious question, Michael!”

It giggled, combing a hand through its hair, “Of course, of course. I have knowledge, Martin. I read sometimes, I know how passion works. Simply put, even though I haven’t necessarily had personal experiences in terms of sexual or romantic intimacy from both neither the need or the want, I do know what it is and how others act on it.”

“O-Oh,” Martin said. This was, without a question, the most humiliating conversation he had ever had.

“So, wait, were you just acting, uh,  _ passionate _ because that’s what you thought you had to do in the moment? Did you not want-,” Martin said, feeling his heart sink in his chest.

Michael cut him off, “No. I did, as you say,  _ want _ to be intimate with you. You fascinate me, little assistant. And I’m curious what else I can find out about you.”

It trailed off, a smug look plastered on its ever-shifting face causing Martin to avert his gaze, “R-Right.”

So Michael had never done anything like this before. Never kissed anyone, never been with anyone, so why him? He didn’t have a clue what attracted something like Michael to him, but he didn’t want to push that part of the conversation further. It was hard enough staying focused on his questions with it watching him like it was.

“Okay, about the blood-drinking or whatever the hell happened in the alley.”

Michael hummed, trailing a sharp nail across the table. Martin watched its movement, hypnotized by it scratching against the marble. He looked up, seeing Michael’s eyes on him but he held its gaze.

“Well?” Martin asked. “Is that what you meant by eating?”

“No,” Michael said. “I do not eat material things, but the Spiral feeds on the lost souls that come through my doors. Take that as you will, assistant. But the blood, consider that more of a pleasant snack or dessert. Like those cookies you chew on while writing your little poems.”

Michael suddenly leaned closer, so it was only a few centimeters from Martin’s face, “And you, Martin, were  _ delicious _ .”

Martin was frozen in his spot, eyes wide and blood roaring in his ears as he stared back. He thought it might kiss him from across the table. He thought  _ he _ would kiss it from across the table. Before he could make a decision, Michael moved forward and kissed him gently. Martin closed his eyes and put a slightly-shaking hand onto its face. It leaned into his touch and sighed into his mouth and suddenly, Michael was pulling him up on his feet and kissing him against the counter. It was pleasant; there was no rush and their lips pressed together and Martin opened his mouth just a bit to allow it in. Michael got the invitation and slipped its tongue inside, causing Martin to release a breathy moan.

“Michael~,” he gasped, fingers clutching at the material shirt sleeves that loosely hung from the monster’s body.

“Yes?” it purred in his ear, pressing a chaste kiss to the shell.

Its tone filled Martin with heat and he whimpered, but knew that it would be best to push away, “W-Wait, stop.”

Michael stopped shifting in his neck and moved away, looking at Martin with its arms still around his waist. Its hands were so large and long that it could probably wrap them twice around Martin’s body. Martin looked up at it, trying to get his thoughts together as his fingers dropped from clutching its shirt to just lightly holding its arm.

“We need to slow down,” he managed to say.

Michael tilted its head and let go of Martin, taking a step back, “I apologize. I may not be too good at reading into your reactions. I thought those sounds you were making were noises of encouragement, were they not?”

Martin took a step forward and laughed awkwardly, looking at the confused creature towering over him, “N-No! They were. It’s just, ah, you make me feel a lot and I’ve never felt those types of feelings in other experiences. Like, in the alley, when you, uh, bit me, I, uh, I-I.”

“You had an orgasm,” Michael finished for him, face completely neutral.

Martin flamed and he wanted to bury himself in his hands, “Ah, y-yeah, I did. And, uh, normally, that doesn’t happen till much later in an, ah, intimate encounter. So it just caught me by surprise, that’s all. It happened too quickly.”

A smirk curled up on Michael’s face, “So, what you’re saying is that you wish our  _ intimate encounter _ would have lasted longer?”

Martin didn’t respond, which Michael took for an agreement as it took the hands that had just shot up to cover his face in its own and removed them. Martin looked at it, bright red. It gave him a genuine smile and kissed his forehead. Martin leaned into it, feeling comfortable.

“It’s just, I haven’t thought of anyone else since J-,” Martin cut himself off, realizing what he had just said.

He felt Michael stiffen against him and pull away, an indecipherable look on its face, “The Archivist.”

Martin felt that same sinking feeling he used to feel when Jon ignored him, “I mean, it was a while ago and I don’t-,”

“Do not lie to me, Martin Blackwood,” it spoke, voice lowering and completely void of emotion. “You do not lie to the arching branch of the twisted deceit. You do not lie to delusion itself.”

Martin backed away, eyes now wide with a different type of emotion than before due to the creature in front of him. Michael’s hair was flowing more than normal and its eyes glowed with spirals. But it saw Martin’s fear and stabilized its form, but didn’t move closer.

“Michael,-” Martin started.

Michael raised a hand and shut him up, “Let me talk, assistant. Feelings are complex, and I may not be the best at understanding them, but I do acknowledge them. So, I know humans need space to figure out these feelings and I will comply. Even more so, I will bring you to  _ your _ Archivist when you wake next. He’s been calling for you and it seems like you both have an attachment to the other. A type of attachment I am not familiar with.”

It paused, something new passing across its face for less than a second. Martin almost thought he had imagined it as Michael continued glaring at him with narrowed eyes. Martin wanted to say something, anything, to meltdown this awful feeling that was brewing in his chest.

But all he managed to say was, “Okay.”

Michael seemed disappointed, but it didn’t respond. Martin blinked and it was gone, disappearing to wherever it went when it wasn’t with Martin. He sighed and picked up the two cups, one empty and the other untouched.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, hello!! I'm running out of chapters to post because I've been busy with school so I'm not completely sure when the next update will be, but hopefully I'll have a chapter ready by next week. Thanks for reading and please leave comments and kudos!! <3

Just like it promised, Michael appeared as soon as Martin called for it. He got up earlier than he normally would have so he could watch the sunrise while drinking tea, and to think about what he would talk about with Jon. Part of him wanted to make a list of all the things he wanted to discuss, but he decided against it. He felt like that would feel a bit too staged, and that’s not what he and Jon are, whatever they are. So Martin put on a sweater and jeans, something similar to what he wore when he worked at the Magnus Institute. It fueled his nostalgia from his first few months, making him wish for simpler times.

Martin left his room around ten o’clock and stood in the middle of the turning hallway.

“Michael?”

“Good morning, assistant,” a voice spoke behind him.

Martin turned around, “Oh, good morning, Michael.”

Michael nodded but kept the same neutral expression it had on yesterday, “Are you ready to go?”

Martin’s heart shrunk in his chest at the dismissiveness, “Michael-.”

Michael’s eyes glanced at him before it cut him off, “Your archivist is waiting, archival assistant. Don’t want to keep him waiting, do you?”

Martin sighed, feeling the passive aggressiveness of the monster radiating off of him. Maybe it would be best if he let it steam for a bit instead of trying to get it to talk. Maybe Jon could help, though he doubted that he could know anything about an entity that was jealousy-prone.

Michael created a door and waved him in. It didn’t take his hand like it always did, but put a light claw on his shoulder to steer him through. Without a moment lost, Martin was in the middle of Jon’s flat, with a wide-eyed Jon staring up at him. Michael didn’t say anything and went through its door, closing it so it dematerialized into thin air. Martin tried not to grumble at its behavior but quickly lightened up when Jon lept up from his couch and hugged him. He felt safe again with his old friend’s arms around him as he buried a hand into Jon’s long hair.

“Jon.”

“Martin.”

They both pulled away, beaming at one another. Jon looked the same as he did when Martin last saw him. His hair was a bit longer and definitely had been unwashed for quite some time, and he looked exhausted, but Jon always looked tired so that wasn’t new. He was wearing an old  _ What the Ghost?  _ sweatshirt that was too big on his scrawny body. But being with Jon felt like being home if he even knew what that was anymore.

Jon was also looking him up and down, seeing how much Martin changed, “Would you like some tea?”

Martin got thrown out of his trance, “O-Oh, yes please.”

As Jon busied himself in the kitchen, Martin walked around the living room, trying his best not to clean up every random object that was lying around. Statements were littered all over the floor, along with random artifacts and other supernatural items. He decided it would be best not to touch anything because who knows what’s cursed.

Jon returned with two mugs of steaming tea and handed one to Martin, who took it gratefully. They sat down on the couch, taking tentative sips.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Jon said, placing the mug on the coffee table.

Martin made a surprised sound, “Huh? Why?”

Jon shrugged, placing his hands on his lap, “I don’t know. Maybe that it would be too dangerous, maybe Michael wouldn’t let you go, maybe you wouldn’t want to see me.”

Martin immediately reached to touch Jon’s hand, who flinched back. Martin blinked and apologized quickly, feeling embarrassed.

“I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-,”

Jon then gently took Martin’s hand in his own, “It’s fine, I’m sorry. I’ve just been kind of a nervous wreck lately.”

Martin scoffed, “Just lately?”

Jon cracked a smile, “Shut up. Well, somehow it’s gotten worse after the accident and with all the powers and such. Just a bit on edge, that’s all.”

Martin nodded, taking a sip of tea, “Of course, yeah. I haven’t been gone for too long, have I?”

“Just a month or so. I’ve practically been harassing Michael to make sure you’re okay,” Jon said, letting go of Martin. “Speaking of which, what was up with it?”

Martin choked on his tea, feeling the familiar redness creep into his cheeks, “O-Oh, it’s nothing. It's just, uh, going through a kind of temper tantrum right now?”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up, “The throat of delusion is going through a  _ temper tantrum _ ? Excuse me?”

Martin laughed, realizing how insane that sounded, “Yeah, it’s mad at me, or at least I think it’s mad because I said I wasn’t sure about us because of-.”

Martin cut himself off, but he already said too much. Jon was frozen next to him, eyebrows raised. Martin wanted to hide behind the couch in order to avoid further embarrassment. After a few minutes of shocked silence, Jon put a hand to his mouth.

“Martin, please tell me,  _ please _ , that you’re not sleeping with the Distortion.”

Martin spluttered, taking another gulp of tea doing his best to avoid facing Jon, “No! N-No, I’m not sleeping with Michael. It’s, uh, complicated.”

“It’s  _ complicated _ ?!”

Martin rubbed at his face, “Yes, we kissed, and, uh, some other stuff but it’s confusing. I don’t-, I don’t know what to do. It’s interested in me, that’s what it said. This whole thing is so weird because I live in Michael’s corridors and I have all this stuff and protection, and it acts so  _ different _ around me. Like it actually cares.”

Jon looked at him, expression hardening, “Martin, you know you don’t owe it anything-.”

Martin huffed, “I know, I know. I’m still figuring stuff out, and it knows that. Surprisingly, it got kind of jealous over something I used to feel so I’m just giving it time to cool off. I’m not scared of Michael or anything, like not at all, but sometimes it gets a bit intense.”

“Martin,” Jon said, sighing into his mug. “I care about you, so just please be careful. I would rather you not get involved with an immortal entity that literally focuses on lying and tricking others but so far at least, it has kept you safe. So I will tolerate it. For now. I need to think about this as well.”

“Yeah, okay, understandable,” Martin nodded.

They left the topic of Michael be and chatted pleasantly about the Institute, their friends, and some of Jon’s new abilities.

“The others miss you, Martin,” Jon said, leaning back against the couch. “Would you consider seeing everyone again?”

Martin smiled, glad that people still thought of him at the Institute, “Yeah! I miss them too. That would be really nice.”

Jon smiled back, and part of Martin’s heart melted. Jon would so rarely smile when they worked together, so it an absolute joy to see him brighten up. But that feeling was quickly replaced by the thought of Michael’s first genuine smile to him and his heart soared even more. Martin blinked everything away and drained the last remnants of tea and put his cup down.

“Martin, I was-.”

Jon was interrupted by a knock on the door and his relaxed demeanor immediately became tense.

“Were you expecting anyone?” Martin asked, glancing at the end of the living room.

“No, I wasn’t,” Jon said, narrowing his eyes. “Give me a second.”

Jon got up off the couch and walked to the door, looking through the eyehole before jolting back. His face contorted into fear that was so clear that Martin jumped as well, looking to him.

Jon turned to him, taking a step back, “Martin, you need to hide. You need to-!”

The door slammed open as a group of people entered, led by an intimidating tattooed woman: Jude Perry.

Jon let out a shout as three people immediately grabbed him and threw him on the floor as two more advanced on Martin, who was frozen in his spot.

“Jon!” he shouted and tried to get to him but he was quickly taken by a man and a woman, one who held a short dagger to his throat. 

Martin stopped moving and whimpered at the blade, watching Jon in his peripheral vision. His mouth was already gagged and he was struggling against the rope that had his wrists locked together. His screams were muffled as his eyes stared back at Martin, who had tears of fear streaming down his face. Jude walked around the room, taking her time as she fingered through the statements before turning back towards the pair.

“The archivist and his assistant, how very interesting of both you,” she said, walking up to Martin and taking his face in her hands. “I was planning on just making do with our dear, old archivist but I think it’ll be easier and much more fun with your little boyfriend, no?”

“He’s not my-,” Martin flinched back at Jude’s touch but she held him firmly as Jon let out a few more muffled shouts. 

Jude tutted and nodded to one of the cult members holding him. Without a second thought, the blade lowered and plunged into Martin’s side. Martin gasped in shock, crumbling to his knees as the knife was pulled out. His vision blurred for a moment as Jon’s screams became louder.

“Alright, let’s get started then!” Jude cheerfully said, strolling back to Jon. “Now, no funny business, Archivist. None of your compelling stuff or your adorable, little friend is going to suffer. So tell me, Archivist, how did you survive the Circus?”

She went on, Jon replying the best he could after his gag was removed. At a particular question, though, Jude didn’t like his vague answer and turned back to the rest of the cult and Martin. A member immediately put a hand on Martin’s arm and seared it through with fire. Martin wailed as his flesh burned, his mind going blank with pain. Jon begged them to stop and started to use his compulsion but Jude slapped a hand on his face. Another person lifted Martin’s sweater up and placed a hand on his chest and burned another spot into his skin, causing Martin to arch back, writhing on the floor.

“Stop avoiding the questions, Archivist.  _ Tell me _ ,” Jude insisted as Martin shook on the floor.

Martin thought it’s been hours, but the clock on the wall said that only thirty minutes have passed. Three more knife wounds littered his body as well as innumerable burn marks; he was hanging on by a thread. Martin’s vision was blurry and he coughed up blood as a puddle of it gushed from his body. He could hear Jon yelling his name but it was just too much effort to keep his eyes from closing.

“Michael,” he murmured like a silent prayer before pressing his cheek against the wood.

As soon as he was about to fall into the bliss of unconsciousness, he felt as if all of the oxygen was sucked out of the room. Martin blinked awake at the sound of a door creaking open, a sound that used to fill him with worry but now he only felt relief. A laugh, or maybe multiple laughs, echoed from every corner of the room, surrounding them completely. It bounced off the wall and hit Martin full-on, filling him with familiar warmth as he gave a dry, bloody smile in its direction.

“What the hell is this?” Jude yelled. “This isn’t your business, Creature of the Spiral. This is between the Eye and the Desolation.”

Michael laughed again and Jude physically cringed at the sound, “Funny little firestarters. Don’t you know not to play with things that aren’t your own?”

Jude’s mouth falls open, “Y-You marked this human? We didn’t-.”

Michael grinned, eyes filled with anger and spiraling madness as it loomed large in the flat, “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t. Pity though, guess the cult is going to have to grow a bit smaller.”

Martin’s sight swam again as the room grew cold and the screams started. He blearily opened his eyes to watch Michael elongate until it filled most of the space. Its lengthy hair wrapped around its body, even longer than it was. Its fingers speared through three of the cultists and ripped them to shreds until gore covered the room. Blood splattered on Martin’s face, mixing with his own that was still steadily leaking from his cut-up body. He barely reacted at the feeling and closed his eyes, so drained he was barely staying conscious. Soon, the room was quiet again.

“Michael, Michael, please help him, h-he’s-,” Jon cried, now freed from his bonds.

“Quiet, Archivist,” Michael said, kneeling down to the delirious man. “You’ve done enough.”

Martin whimpered as Michael ran a hand down his body and tutted unhappily, “This isn’t too good, but nothing impossible. Avatars do more damage so it’ll take more time for you to heal. We can fix you in my hallways; I work better there. But for now, you’re going to need to stay awake for me, darling, so here’s what we’re going to do. Martin, hey, open your eyes for me.”

Martin obeyed, every breath hurting his lungs, “M-Michael, you’re here. I-.”

“Hush now, little assistant. I’m not losing you to a few arsonists,” Michael said, reaching its own wrist to its mouth and sinking its fangs in. “You’re going to drink.”

Michael’s blood was technicolor and neon as it flowed down its arm, standing out against its pale skin. If Martin had a shred of competence left, he would have refused but Michael was already putting its wrist to his lips and Martin closed his eyes and opened his mouth on instinct.

His eyes flung open as his hands shot out to grip the monster’s wrist and it chuckled. As soon as the liquid dripped down his throat, he instantly felt better. Maybe this was what drugs were. Michael was his own drug that he couldn’t get enough of so that would make perfect sense. He wanted to stay here for the rest of his life with the monster’s wrist in his mouth and it petting his hair.

“Ah haha, that’s enough now, dear assistant. Don’t want to overwhelm you too much,” Michael said, giggling at the whine that Martin made. “Let’s go home.”

Martin felt weightless for a moment as Michael lifted him up. Martin shifted in its arms, finally feeling the stickiness of blood on his body as he dropped his face onto its chest and closed his eyes.

“W-Wait, Jon?” Martin mumbled dazedly, turning his head to see if he was okay.

“I’m right here, Martin,” Jon said, running up to him. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t expect this, I swear. Please, I’m so sorry.”

Jon looked close to tears and Martin shook his head, “J-Jon, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known about this. It’s okay.”

“On the contrary, Martin,” Michael interrupted. “I completely blame your archivist and he should be glad I didn’t destroy him just like I did with those worthless cultists.”

Martin groaned as the high of Michael’s blood started to wear off, “He’s not my archivist, he’s  _ our _ archivist,” he slurred, rubbing his face against its shirt.

“That’s enough from you, little assistant,” Michael said, cracking a smile against its will. “On we go.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a miracle I actually managed to write this chapter on time because I ALMOST didn't make it. I'm in quarantine now because my roommate got covid (I'm negative tho) so I had some time to relax and write. Remember to leave comments and kudos and enjoy!! <3

Martin closed his eyes as he heard the door open. Before he knew it, he was on his bed, completely clean. Michael must have done his reality shifting again. He tried to move an arm but was greeted with pain instantly coursing through his body. Martin gasped, clutching at the sheets beneath him.

“Michael,” he whimpered, looking around for the creature. “P-Please, it hurts so much, I can’t-.”

Michael appeared by his side and pressed its fingers to his temples, “I can take this feeling away, Martin. It will make you feel weird, like with my blood, but it won’t hurt. I think that would be better because I do not like seeing you writhing around, at least not in the current state you’re in.”

Martin ignored its implications and nodded frantically, relaxing into its hands as he suddenly became numb all over and calmed down. His breathing was still shallow but it wasn’t as erratic as it used to be. Michael removed its fingers and ran a claw down the center of his sweater, cutting it open with ease. Martin blinked, bewildered at the action.

“Wha-?” he mumbled, trying to sit up before Michael lightly pushed him back into the pillows.

“Hush, little assistant,” it said, removing the cloth from his shoulders so his chest was bare. “I need to look at the damage that those minions of the Desolation caused. So far, it seems harder to fix than normal, and for that, I apologize. I’m going to need to work on this for some time, but I first want to see what hurts and what doesn’t so you’re going to need to stay awake for me, okay?”

“I’m not going to fall asleep,” Martin said stubbornly, furrowing his eyebrows.

“That’s the spirit, darling,” Michael smiled, materializing supplies from the nightstand. “This will hurt, but just hold on and I’ll put you to sleep soon.”

“Put me to sleep-?” Martin started, forehead starting to glisten with a sheen of nervous sweat.

Michael laughed at the implication, “Not like euthanizing, of course. The quicker I get started, the faster I can knock you out.”

Martin almost scoffed at that, if it didn’t hurt his chest to breathe. Michael guided its claws down his bleeding body. He writhed under its fingers as it inspected him. Martin closed his eyes, trying to even out his breath and think of anything else. His upper lip was quivering as he tried to hold back tears and his body was starting to shake.

“Martin.”

Martin opened his eyes, seeing the blurry image of Michael standing over him with its hair fawning over his face. It moved a hand and Martin nuzzled against it, letting tears loose against its palm. Its other hand remained on his body, feeling through the wounds and burns. With every scrape, Martin pressed his face more into its cold hand. It muffled his small cries, and Martin was grateful for that.

He felt Michael’s hand leave his chest and he shuddered from the cool room, “I think it’d be best if you become unconscious, little assistant.”

Martin sniffed and removed his tear-stained face from the monster’s hand, facing the ceiling once more, “How bad is it?”

Michael seemed to hesitate which made Martin’s pulse speed up, “It’ll be okay. Admittedly, I’ve never healed someone, especially a human, so I think this will be a fun adventure.”

“A fun adventure?! Michael, this is my life-,” Martin tried to sit up but let out a moan as his cuts started to open up more.

Michael sighed and reached a hand to cover the man’s eyes and forehead. Martin’s last conscious thought was Michael’s eyes staring at him with concern and he was gone, falling into the bed with a light thump.

In the next few days, at least Martin thought they were days, he eased and out of consciousness. Everything was blurry whenever he opened his eyes and it only took moments for the pain to rush through his body. He would gasp out and his body would tense up, causing Martin to cry even harder. Michael would appear at his side instantly and wipe tears from his face before placing a hand on his face, making him pass out again. Martin wasn’t sure how long this went on, but he eventually woke up and could remain conscious without feeling the burning feeling all through his torso and arms.

“Michael?” he coughed, sitting up and looking down to see most of his upper half wrapped in bandages. 

He had a small headache as his stomach grumbled and he looked around the dim room. The window outside showed that it must be night; he could see the streetlights illuminating the road below him, lighting up cars and passersby.

“Martin, how are you doing?”

He turned back around at the silence suddenly being broken, and he did his best not to act surprised and the monster standing next to his bed.

“W-Water,” Martin said dryly, trying to lift his hand to rub at his face but failing.

He couldn’t move his arms. Martin looked at Michael in a panic as he tried to reach them up but he just sat in his spot, unmoving except for his shaking body.

“M-Michael, I can’t move!” he cried, plummeting into the bed. “What’s going-?”

“Shhh,” Michael said, creating a glass of water and sitting down next to the whimpering man. “It’s just a side effect. Do not worry, you are not paralyzed. Just drink this.”

It guided the glass to his cracked lips and he lowered his head as Michael titled it up. Martin closed his eyes, relishing his mouth being hydrated again and the liquid running down his throat. He eagerly drank the entire cup and Michael sat down on the nightstand, refilling it with a wave.

“I assume you’re hungry,” it said, walking to the door that led to the kitchen. “I read that when humans are ill, they tend to eat soup? Is that true?”

Martin cracked a smile, nodding, “Typically when they’ve got a cold, but yes.”

Michael immediately brightened up. “Fantastic. I made, well, made in theory, some chicken soup. That’s the best kind according to the internet website named WebMD. It-.”

Martin sputtered, “Wait, hold it, you know about the  _ internet _ ?!”

Michael tilted its head, “Of course.”

“...Okay then.”

Michael disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bowl and a spoon, “Human medicine is interesting, and I heard this works. I don’t see how some flora and fauna can cure burn and stab wounds but maybe it is more healing in the emotional sense than physical? I’m sure you’ll let me know.”

Martin mumbled an agreement as Michael sat down again. It dipped the spoon into the hot liquid and smoothly lifted it to his mouth. Martin flushed at the gesture and opened his mouth, avoiding eye contact. He suppressed a moan at the taste. It was amazing.

“Is it to your standards?” Michael asked, eagerly awaiting his response.

“It’s delicious, Michael,” Martin said, accepting another spoonful. “For someone who’s never cooked before, you are quite good at it.”

“I learned from the best,” it replied, winking.

Martin flushed and wordlessly opened his mouth again. They remained in a comfortable silence, Martin sneaking glances at Michael who’s eyes never left his face. He felt the warmth spreading through his body and felt that familiar feeling of happiness seeps into his heart. Even though he was still in pain, it seemed fine when the entity was caring for him. Soon, Michael scraped the bottom of the bowl and set it down on the nightstand again.

“Well?” it asked, taking Martin’s hand in its own.

Martin felt the slightest touch on his hand, and he curled his fingers around Michael’s claws, “I feel better emotionally, I think. Maybe it’s just because of you.”

Martin realized what he had said and was about to apologize when Michael kissed him gently. He was sure it could taste the remnants of soup on his lips but he didn’t care, and he doubted that it cared as well. It didn’t push for more, just gave an exchange of love and adoration. When Michael pulled away, Martin was smiling.

“I’m kind of feeling tired again. Stay with me?”

Michael leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Of course, dear assistant. I’ll have you change your bandages soon but you don’t have to be awake for that. Rest.”

It moved so that it lay next to him, wrapping Martin in its arms. Martin groaned a bit at his body being shifted into a new position but eventually got used to it, sighing into its chest. He fell back asleep with Michael’s hand twisting through his hair and another hand around his chest.


End file.
